Something in the monosyllable made the old gentleman's lips twitch
nervously.

"I may mention," he said, with a dangerous suavity, "that I still hold
to my opinion."

Jack Meredith rose, without haste. This, like the interview of the
previous night, was conducted upon strictly high-bred and gentlemanly
lines.

"And I to mine," he said. "That is why I took the liberty of calling at
this early hour. I thought that perhaps we might effect some sort of a
compromise."

"It is very good of you to make the proposal." Sir John kept his fingers
away from his lips by an obvious exercise of self-control. "I am not
partial to compromises: they savour of commerce."

Jack gave a queer, curt nod, and moved towards the door. Sir John
extended his unsteady hand and rang the bell.

"Good-morning," he said.

"Graves," he added, to the servant who stood in the doorway, "when you
have closed the door behind Mr. Meredith, bring up breakfast, if you
please."

On the doorstep Jack Meredith looked at his watch. He had an appointment
with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven--an hour when Lady Cantourne
might reasonably be expected to be absent at the weekly meeting of a
society which, under the guise and nomenclature of friendship, busied
itself in making servant girls discontented with their situations.

It was only eleven o'clock. Jack turned to the left, out of the quiet
but fashionable street, and a few steps took him to Piccadilly. He went
into the first jeweller's shop he saw, and bought a plain diamond ring.
Then he walked on to keep his appointment with his affianced wife.

Miss Millicent Chyne was waiting for him with that mixture of maidenly
feelings of which the discreet novelist only details a selection. It is
not customary to dwell upon thoughts of vague regret at the approaching
withdrawal of a universal admiration--at the future necessity for
discreet and humdrum behaviour quite devoid of the excitement that lurks
in a double meaning. Let it, therefore, be ours to note the outward
signs of a very natural emotion. Miss Chyne noted them herself with
care, and not without a few deft touches to hair and dress. When Jack
Meredith entered the room she was standing near the window, holding back
the curtain with one hand and watching, half shyly, for his advent.

What struck her at once was his gravity; and he must have seen the droop
in her eyes, for he immediately assumed the pleasant, half-reckless
smile which the wor